


Javert vs. Brandy

by KChan88



Series: Sailing By Orion's Star: Deleted Scenes [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Drunkenness, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7964161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>23-year-old Javert accidentally has too much brandy while celebrating with Michel and Arthur. Little Enjolras is concerned, and Javert finds himself sleeping in one of the Enjolras' guest rooms for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Javert vs. Brandy

**Port Royal, Jamaica. 1697.**

Javert’s head feels…fuzzy, or rather like a great number of bees have somehow taken residence and remain content to buzz about around his brain.

He eyes the nearly empty bottle of brandy resting on his superior’s desk, Michel and Arthur’s laughter ringing loudly in his ears as he takes another sip from his own glass, feeling the room tilt slightly. They’d invited him to the Enjolras home for a celebratory dinner, which eventually led the three of them into Michel’s study and the fateful bottle of brandy. Their last journey entailed a near miss with pirates who’d attempted to rob them, and ended with the capture of several, their shipment of silks intact when all was said and done.

The trouble was, once the brandy started flowing, Javert wasn’t certain how to say _no_.

“Scoundrels thought they had us,” Michel says, and Javert turns his eyes back toward the captain, shaking his head and clearing his blurry vision. “There’s more of them, lately. A growing plague of thieves.”

“Thievery is not the answer perhaps,” Arthur replies. “But there has been a slew of economic problems as of late, I’m not surprised some men have been driven to it.” He pauses, catching the surprised look in Michel’s eyes, clearing his throat. “But of course, that does not demean your excellent command, my dear friend,” he says, squeezing Michel’s shoulder. “And you too, Javert! What swordsmanship you possess, my goodness. On par with Michel himself I’d say, and at your young age. Just freshly three and twenty, aren’t you?”

“Thank you sir,” Javert says, his words more halted than usual. “But you flatter me too much.”

“Nonsense,” Arthur says, reaching over and making to loosen Javert’s cravat, which is still tied tightly. “Do loosen up, you deserve it. Besides, Michel was just telling me this morning what a talent you have with a sword. Weren’t you Michel?”

“I was indeed,” Michel says, raising a glass toward Javert with a fond half-smile. “And Rene is certain you will make him the greatest swordsman in all the Caribbean, you know. So the highest compliment, in my book.”

Arthur laughs merrily at this, the sound cutting into Javert’s head.

“It certainly is,” Javert says, frowning as he hears the slur in his own words. “He’ll be quite talented himself I expect.” He breathes in, suppressing a hiccup. “He’s a natural.”

What’s _happening_?

“So Arthur,” Michel says, pouring some more brandy into his own glass. “You said you were nearly done with the preparations for Frantz’s arrival?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, a brightness in his eyes. “Everything should be ready in about three month’s time. I…well I know Chantal will miss him a great deal, but we’ve decided for now, it’s what’s best, for his education.” A melancholy mixes in with the light, as Arthur takes another sip, but he offers Michel a smile. “But I am quite thrilled for him to meet Rene. I am sure they will be the best of friends.”

“No doubt,” Michel says, eyeing Javert’s nearly empty glass and picking up the bottle again. “More, Javert?”

Javert cannot quite force the words from his mouth, sticky and thick as they are, so he merely holds out his glass, hands unsteady, and the remaining brandy goes sloshing over the edge.

“Javert,” Michel says, perplexed, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice as he pulls the bottle back. “Have you had a cup too much my lad?”

Javert pauses, feeling his stomach slosh angrily, his head heavy.

“…possibly, sir.”

Michel considers him for a moment, a full smile breaking out, and he shakes his head.

“And you thought it offense to refuse more when I asked,” Michel says, understanding dawning on him. “Here, let me take this, no need for you to force yourself.”

“My apologies sir,” Javert says, resting his hands on the arm of his chair. “I do not usually have a great deal of liquor and I’m afraid I’ve embarrassed myself.”

“Nonsense,” Michel says. “You should…”

But he’s interrupted as Javert tries rising from the chair, face flushed.

“I should go home sir,” Javert says, but as soon as he stands the world spins, and he nearly falls, Michel grabbing his arms and placing him back in the chair.

“Steady there,” Michel says. “Perhaps you should just sit for a bit.”

“Good lord Michel what have you done to poor Javert?” Arthur teases, unable to stop from laughing good-naturedly. “You should know it takes time to build up a tolerance to our favorite brandy. All right, Javert?”

“I…” Javert tries, words slow. “I was. And then it was like a wall, and then a wave of…a wave…”

“No need to explain,” Arthur says, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m afraid I know the sensation.”

Javert watches Michel pour him a glass of water, handing it over.

“Drink this,” Michel commands, and Javert takes it, grateful, drinking the whole glass in a few seconds. It settles his roiling stomach, but his head pounds and before he even quite realizes it, he’s resting it in his hands in front of two superior officers.

“Going to be sick?” Michel asks, concern in his voice.

“No,” Javert answers. “But my head…it feels as if there are rocks in it.  Or that there will soon be rocks in it.”

Michel makes to reply, but words come tumbling out of Javert’s mouth before he can stop them.

“You are an excellent commanding officer, Captain Enjolras,” Javert says, the slur growing worse. “Truly. For giving a man like me a chance, you know.” He clears his throat against the tide of words, but cannot quite stop them. “And you as well, Lieutenant Combeferre. Honorable men, the both of you. I’ve learned a great deal already.”

“Very kind words my good man,” Michel says, and through the haze of drunkenness Javert hears a similar tone to the one Michel uses with a saddened Rene, and he’s not sure he can process that with all the alcohol in his blood. “But I think perhaps you ought to stay here tonight. We’ve got plenty of room.”

“No sir, I’m fine,” Javert says, standing up again, and this time he keeps his balance, but he does wobble. “Truly it’s…”

“No arguments, I’m afraid,” Michel says, pressing Javert back into the chair. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

Javert falls silent at this, his head in his hands again, a strange buzzing in his ears before he hears the door to Michel’s study open. It takes him a moment to recognize Rene’s voice, which is far more piercing than normal.

“What’s going on?” Enjolras asks, walking over to them, rubbing his face sleepily, his mane of tousled blond hair visible out of the corner of Javert’s eye.

“Rene you should be in bed,” Michel chides. “It’s late.”

“I heard Lieutenant Combeferre laughing,” Rene protests, before turning to Javert. “What’s the matter with Javert?” he continues, poking Javert in the arm, voice sounding even louder. “Javert, are you all right?”

“Javert’s feeling a bit ill,” Michel tells him. “Kindly don’t poke him, son.”

“I’m sorry you’re ill Javert,” Enjolras says, contrite, and Javert raises his head, looking back at Rene. “Would you like me to read to you? Papa does that when I’m ill, sometimes, because I get so bored.”

“Rene,” Michel tries, but Enjolras is too enthused, and continues, not hearing his father.

“Or I could reenact the stories you were telling me about when the pirates attacked!” he exclaims, his raised voice a hammer to Javert’s already aching head. “I just bet your sword was like lightning, wasn’t it Javert?”

Javert stares at him for a moment, his response delayed, but he cannot quite let the hopeful expression falter for long.

“Quite like lighting, yes,” Javert says, and Enjolras grins.

“Here Rene,” Arthur says. “I’ll be the pirate since Javert is ill. A poor stand in, I know, but we’ll let Javert be the audience.”

“You could never be a poor stand in, Lieutenant Combeferre,” Enjolras says, sincere. “Will you watch, Javert? I’ll be you.”

“I will watch,” Javert says, sitting up in his chair, everything feeling out of focus. “Do go on.”

At this, Enjolras seizes one of the pokers from the fireplace, pointing it at Arthur.

“You are defeated, pirate!” Enjolras shouts. “Now surrender, or face the consequences.”

“I will never surrender,” Arthur says, attempting a menacing face, but it wavers when he holds back a laugh. “You must make me.”

Enjolras taps Arthur’s side lightly with the poker and Arthur falls to the floor, spreading his arms out across the carpet. Enjolras points the poker toward Arthur’s chest.

“This is what you get for attempting to steal from the East India Company, you rogue,” Enjolras says, and Javert watches Michel smile, knowing he’s picked up that word somewhere. “You are under arrest!”

“You have beaten me, Javert!” Arthur says. “I should have known better than to try and defeat your sword of lighting!”

“You certainly should have,” Enjolras says, a dramatic frown on his face. “And you will pay for your villainy.”

Michel laughs, clapping and sharing a look with Javert, who, despite his head, smiles just an inch.

“What did you think Javert?” Enjolras asks.

“An excellent impression,” Javert says. “Very good Rene.”

Enjolras brightens, looking back at his father.

“Javert should stay here, if he’s ill,” Enjolras implores. “I’d hate for him to be ill alone.”

“I was thinking the very same,” Michel says, looking pleased and knowing Javert won’t fight him now. “And I think bed might be best for him now, so if you’d let Arthur take you back to your room, I’ll see to Javert.”

“All right,” Enjolras says, looking worried again, and walking back up to Javert and standing close, shuffling his bare foot back and forth across the hardwood floor. “I do hope you feel better soon, Javert. If you are still ill tomorrow, I can come read to you.”

“Thank you, Rene,” Javert says, reaching out and patting the side of the boy’s arm, missing his mark for a moment and patting the air before he feels the cotton pajamas beneath his hand. This earns a bewildered look from Enjolras, but he returns the gesture before letting Arthur scoop him up and carry him to bed.

“Well,” Michel says once they’re alone. “I can show you to the guest room. There’s some spare clothes in the drawers there.”

“Sir, truly I…”

“Rene’s orders, I’m afraid,” Michel says, cutting him off, mirth in his eyes.

“I’m sorry sir,” Javert says. “For being a trouble, and being…”

“Stop right there,” Michel says, putting a hand on his arm and steadying him as they walk down the hallway. “I believe I was the one who offered you the brandy, was I not? We’ll just water it down next time. And you are allowed to say no, Javert. I won’t be angry.”

“Understood sir,” Javert says as they reach the room, and he sits down on the edge of the bed. “Thank you. I think I’ll be all right from here.”

“All right then,” Michel says, lingering in the doorway as if he wants to say something. “Well do let us know if you need anything. You are among friends here, Nicholas,” he continues, using Javert’s first name. “I hope you know that. Even if we were a bit amused at your expense.”

“Thank you sir,” Javert says, nodding. “I do.”

“Goodnight Javert,” Michel says. “I’ll make sure to have the coffee brewed a bit stronger in the morning, for you head. It helps.”

“Goodnight sir,” Javert says. “Thank you again.”

With that the door closes, and still a bit in a haze Javert finds the spare clothes before practically crashing into the bed and falling atop the covers, not even bothering to slide under them.

“It _was_ a good impression of me,” he mumbles to himself, remembering Rene’s antics of a few moments ago before a brandy-fueled sleep claims him.


End file.
